


STAR WARS: The Old Republic - Deliverance

by TheLastEnvoy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Chronic Pain, Depression, Gay Character, Insomnia, Jedi, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pain, Painsomnia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Sith Empire, Social Anxiety, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic Spoilers, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Knights of the Fallen Empire, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Knights of the Fallen Empire Spoilers, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Onslaught, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Onslaught Spoilers, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastEnvoy/pseuds/TheLastEnvoy
Summary: Lord Scourge is suffering. He is finally free from the Emperor's hold but his chronic pain has intensified. Thus begins his journey to becoming a truly emancipated being through self-discovery and healing.
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Lord Scourge
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. Lord of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be a long character piece dedicated to Lord Scourge because aaaahhhhh he must suffer from some chronic pain like literally all the time and I was so eager to explore that. I also wanted him to rediscover his "humanity", to find out how to live again after being the Emeperor's Wrath for three centuries.

_How long has it been since I got a decent night’s sleep? When was the last time I ever slept without being hunched over beneath the covers, sobbing? I’ve tried to embrace it. I’ve tried to turn it into anger. To hate. To my make myself strong._

_But I can’t._

_Whatever I do, it persists. It’s like I’m on fire all the time, but the fire is within and it’ll never go out._

_I can’t take this anymore._

*

“Scourge?”

He looked up at the Jedi, unfolding his arms, only now realising he’d been clutching himself, his head bent over. Everyone was looking at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you… all right?” The concern on Kyros’ face sickened him. He cursed silently. He had allowed him to see his suffering. His weakness. “You look a bit ill.”

Hiding his shaking hands beneath the table, Scourge dialled up his scowl. “Continue the briefing.” Kyros obeyed but Scourge paid no attention. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself crying out. Three hundred years and it was as fresh as the day he became immortal. He had thought defeating Vitiate would make it stop or, at the least, make him numb to it. No. Three weeks later and it was worse. So much worse. All he could focus on was the relief of taking his med-shot. It was his only respite. 

When the briefing was finally over, he darted out of the conference room before anyone could stop him. He headed straight for his quarters next to the engine room. In his haste, he nearly fell over the blasted astromech which whistled and bleeped indignantly. Scourge ignored it. Sealing his door shut, he shed off his cloak and allowed the pain, the fire, to run riot. It was lucky, perhaps, that his quarters were next to the engine; the noise they made helped disguise his screams.

*

The med-packs. Scourge had one left in his entire supply. As he stabbed the needle into his thigh and felt the pain lessen, he knew that it was less than before.

_They don’t seem to work anymore._

Wincing, he suppressed the urge to throw the empty vial across the room. He hated how he needed them. Worse, he hated how it was all he could think about during his weaker moments. He never needed to use them when he had served the Emperor. But back then, he was strong. Now, he was weak.

What had changed?

He had wrestled with this question for some time now. For three hundred years, he waited for the Emperor’s downfall, to meet the Jedi he’d seen in his vision to be born and fulfil his destiny. Now it had come to pass, his existence felt… empty. Meaningless.

_What do I do now? What can I do now that I’m free?_

“You could become a Jedi,” Kyros had suggested. “Serve the Light Side and the Republic.”

Scourge had laughed at that. Him? A Jedi? He may not have been part of the Empire anymore, but he was still Sith. There was always a part of him that would be Sith. Regardless of his species, he’d served the Dark Side for too long to be “redeemed” and become a servant of the light. The idea was preposterous. Even when he said as much, Kyros half-smiled as if he too recognised the folly of this suggestion.

“I suppose it is a little naïve,” he said, “to assume you’d start wearing brown robes and wield a blue sabre just like that. But you could serve us in other ways.”

This made Scourge furious. “What makes you think I have to serve anyone? I’ve spent a large portion of my life being the Emperor’s puppet. I will not spend the rest of it serving the Jedi, the Republic or anyone. Why can I not just _be_?”

The question was addressed to himself as much as Kyros. It was as if his subconscious was lending a helping hand. Why couldn’t he just be? Why not live as ordinary beings do? Tend a moisture farm on Tatooine. Watch a pod race on Malastare. The Galaxy brimmed with possibilities to live an ordinary life, away from politics and war, away from the futile struggle between the Jedi and the Sith. Surely, this was how the Force intended most beings to live, to just simply enjoying living. 

The more he thought about the notion, the more far fetched it seemed. He’d lived too long and seen too much to simply throw away his lightsabre and live a more ordinary existence. While he was a mere Sith warrior back in the days when he served Darth Nyriss that might have been possible. But the Emperor had robbed him of that life the moment he’d proclaimed him as his Wrath. It was simply beyond him now. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be shot of his past. The pain would be a constant reminder of that — a dark fire that would be with him until the end of his life. Whenever that would be.

*

Another night of pain. Another night of seeing _his_ face, of being devoured by _those_ eyes. As deep and as black as the void itself. The others… They had no idea. The extent of the Emperor’s power could devour worlds.

He had seen it for himself. When Darth Nyriss took him to Nathema, he believed nothing could horrify him. He’d seen massacres on a grand scale. He’d seen soldiers writhing at his feet, innards painting the duracrete. He’d heard men shrieking in agony as wicked instruments burrowed into their flesh, women sob for deliverance as the same instruments tore apart their sanity. None of it could compare to the emptiness of the void, the absence of the Force. He supposed he should be grateful. Pain was terrible, but at least it was _something_. At least he could feel. His mind had brushed with Vitiate’s on more than one occasion. He knew the Emperor felt nothing. No pity. No anguish. No love. No passion. All he craved was power. He had no concern for life, the Galaxy or even the Force. They were all just a means to an end — to become the Emperor of Nothing.

Scourge wanted to believe Kyros had vanquished him. He truly did. But his continued suffering told another story.

Vitiate was still out there. Somewhere. In some form or another.

His spirit could be hanging over Scourge as he slept. Haunting him. Tormenting him. Making the pain worse as punishment for betraying his master.

“I did not betray you. I was never loyal to you to begin with. I only endured this existence to bring you down. You were never my master.”

The only master he had was this pain. _His_ pain. It taught him to be strong. To forsake weakness. But only now, after three centuries, was it truly testing his resolve.

_I am weak. I have always been weak._

A week, ago, he’d stood shirtless before the airlock, wondering what would happen if he were to open it and let the vacuum of space take him. It seemed only logical, the only way to starve the fire of oxygen. No one would know. They were all asleep. If he quietly sealed himself in the compression chamber and let the door on the other side open, he will be gone before they realised what had happened. Not even Kyros would—

His chest tightened. Kyros… The conversation the two had so many months ago was the first time Scourge had felt alive in centuries. Was he really going to throw away the chance to feel the Jedi’s warmth beside him again? To feel his embrace?

The whirring and clanking footsteps of the protocol droid out in the corridor encouraged Scourge to make himself scarce. He’d forgotten about the droid. It would’ve doubtless raised an almighty uproar if its mechanical eyes caught him opening the airlock. It might even think he was trying to sabotage the ship.

So he retreated to his quarters and curled up beneath his bed sheets, much like he was now, and tried to endure. If not for his sake then for Kyros’.

*

“Master would like to see you in his quarters.”

The blasted protocol droid had come to Scourge while he’d been meditating. He opened his eyes, giving the infernal machine a withering look. If he hadn’t so much respect for Kyros, he would’ve cut the wretched thing in half by now.

“Why can’t Kyros come to my quarters instead?”

The protocol seemed overwhelmed by this question, as if it was beyond its programming to comprehend the motivations behind sentient behaviour. “I cannot explain that, Lord Scourge. I am merely repeating what the Master has said. And I must say, these quarters are frightfully bare. May I offer my services in redecorating it for you?”

“Touch anything and I’ll have you thrown on a scrap heap.” Scourge got to his feet and let the blustered droid lead him to Kyros’ quarters on the port bow of the ship. He was reading some report or other on his holopad but stood up as Scourge came in and, smiling, gestured for him to sit down.

“Thanks, C4,” Kyros said to the droid who hovered in the corner. “That’ll be all.” Now alone, he turned his attention to Scourge who was now perched on the end of his bed. His expression softened. “How are you, Scourge?”

The Sith straightened his back. “As well as I usually am.”

“Sleeping okay?”

Now why did he ask that? “I rarely need sleep. I rely on the Force for sustenance.”

Kyros chuckled. “Even the most powerful Force users need to get some shut-eye every once in a while. And I can’t help but notice that you've been looking tired, lately.”

The human’s green-eyed gaze pierced Scourge who could not help but look away, studying a set of drawers in the corner.

"I’ve been sleeping fine,” he insisted. “Well, in fact. More than well. Ever since the Emperor’s downfall, it’s been much easier to sleep.”

“Indeed.” Kyros leant forward, hand cupping his bearded chin. “I’m surprised that you’ve not felt any side effects. I’m sure, given the connection between the two of you, that your mortality has returned.”

Scourge realised he was supposed to say something. “Well, it’s hard to tell. Short of dying, there’s no way to prove that my mortality has come back.”

Kyros raised an eyebrow. “What about your pain?”

“What about it?”

“Well, surely you don’t feel it anymore, if you’ve indeed become mortal again.”

“Of course it has.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” He hated the way he was looking at him. “Kyros, why did you bring me in here? What’s this all about?”

The Jedi didn’t answer for a while. Instead, he examined Scourge, stroking his beard and frowning. “T7 told me something that troubled me. He said, after that meeting yesterday in the conference room, you ran into your quarters as if your life depended on it. He said you were practically bent double as if you were going to be sick.”

Scourge’s eyes narrowed. Trust the astromech to be such a snitch. “The droid must be malfunctioning.”

“I can assure you,” Kyros said. “T7 is functioning at maximum capacity.” He leant forward and his frown disappeared. “Scourge, I know your pain has been getting worse.”

“Getting worse?” Scourge made an effort to make this claim seem outlandish. “Ridiculous! As you say, the Emperor is vanquished. That means there’s no way I could still be experiencing this chronic pain.”

“But anyone looking at you yesterday,” Kyros said in a low but gentle voice, “could see for themselves how much you were hurting.”

Shame prickled Scourge like shrapnel embedded in his skin. Had he really been so obvious?

“Why are you hiding this from us, Scourge?” Kyros said. He sounded almost hurt. “Why are you hiding it from me? Why won’t you let me help you?”

Scourge stood up, hands clenched at his side. “There’s nothing you can do to help. There’s nothing anyone can do. This is my burden and mine alone.” As he spoke, a sharp pain pierced his side. It was so intense that he couldn’t help but wince and an involuntary grunt passed his lips. He must have blacked out for a second because the next thing he knew, he was on the bed once again and Kyros was squatting at his side. 

“Listen,” the Jedi said. “I have some training in the healing arts. It’s rudimentary but perhaps it could help you.”

“No,” Scourge grunted, feeling another stab of pain. “This— This is beyond any Jedi healing.”

“Please, Scourge! At least let me try.” His hand cupped the side of Scourge’s face. “Don’t shut me out. Let me help you.”

Scourge relished the warmth of the Jedi’s hand. Even at his touch, he seemed to feel better. But he knew he couldn’t go through with it.

“I’m sorry, Kryos, I— Forgive me. If I allow this, it will only prove that I am weak. I need to find my own way to conquer this. I need to be strong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help,” Kyros said. “It doesn’t make you weak. Strength lies in recognising that you need the help of others.”

“This is different,” Scourge said. “It’s more than just physical injury. I— I think I need to leave the Defender. Struck out on my own a bit. I’m not sure how but my instincts tell me this is the only way.”

Slowly, Kyros lowered his hand. His eyes looked mournful but Scourge could tell he recognised his defeat. “If you think this is the best thing for you to heal, then I’d be happy to let you do it.”

“Thank you.” Scourge reached out and squeezed the human’s upper arm. “You have… You have no idea how much this means to me, Kyros.”

“I think I have some idea.” A small smile curled his lips. “So, where would you like me to drop you off?”


	2. Free Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scourge decides to take a speeder to the dunes of Tattooine to begin his healing process. Instead, he finds only more questions and more pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard to write ahhhhhhh but I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out?? Comments and feedback would be much appreciated. :)

_Tatooine. This sordid world reminds me a lot of Korriban, a scorched desolate wasteland on the Outer Rim. Unlike the world of my forebears, it holds little significance. There are no tombs of ancient beings to discover, no secret chambers holding the pathway to unfathomable power. There is only the suns and the sand. The planet is barely habitable, and yet the savage tribes that hide in the Jundland Wastes, and the criminal scum that pursue bounties in Anchorhead all manage to survive. This is because they are strong. This world is only meant for the strong. The weak wither and die._

_And that is what makes it perfect._

*

“Don’t get many strangers around here these days.” The ancient human blinked at him from eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles. Tatooine’s twin suns seemed to have aged him horribly. His skin was like leather, just how Scourge imagined a Bantha would look without all its fur. “Where do you come from, fella?”

Although Tatooine did not belong to the Republic, Scourge was unsure how the word “Sith” would be received. He already had plenty of stares following him as he made his way from the spaceport out towards this vehicle merchant. His crimson skin and towering demeanour might put people on edge, despite donning a simple leather jacket, trousers and combat boots instead of his armour in an effort to blend in. Then again, that could just be how Tatooine was. If you’ve got to survive out in the desert, you need to be careful who you make friends with.

“I need a speeder,” Scourge said, ignoring the question.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” The merchant gestured to the line of speeders outside his shop, all coated in a thin layer of sand. “We’ve got stand-ups, sit-ons, swoops, skimmers… If you’re looking for a bargain, I can do you a great deal if you buy tod—”

“I am not interested in the price,” Scourge said.

Beneath his heavy headdress, the merchant’s eyes widened. He probably thought this was his lucky day. The fool.

“Oh, well. In that case,” he said. “I have some excellent specimens inside if you want to take a look.”

He led Scourge into his dark and dingy shop. An array of used speeders of many different makes and models sat in a semi-circle. Liking the look of a slim-lined speeder bike whose silver pointed nose reminded Scourge of an Imperial dreadnaught, he mounted it and examined the controls.

“Oh, yes!” the merchant said, hurrying over to him when he realised that the Sith had ignored his opening speech about another model nearby. “The Aratech Eclipse. Imported from Quesh. Nice and speedy. Skims the dunes like no other vehicle. And, at a reduces rate of a hundred thousand credits, it is a real bargain.”

While the controls of the Aratech seemed simple enough, Scourge knew its outer shell would not withstand Tatooine’s harsh desert storms.

"Do you have anything sturdier? I have a long ride ahead.”

“How sturdy are we talking?” the merchant asked as Scourge dismounted. “We have the Tirsa series over there, though there would need to be some modifications. Otherwise, there’s the Baron.” He led Scourge over to it. “Korrealis class. Notice the near-disc shape? Perfect for long distance journeys and carries a lot of storage. Of course, it doesn’t come with a windshield but with a bit extra, I can help fix that on for you, and additional seat if you plan on having passengers.”

Scourge ran a hand along the faded green paintwork. “Does it come in red?”

“Absolutely!” The merchant nodded agreeably. “I like your thinking, stranger. Pardon for sounding like a Corellian silk merchant, but red will go really well with your skin tone.”

Climbing into the speeder, Scourge smiled to himself.

“This is perfect,” he said after a while. “I’ll take it.”

“Splendid!” The merchant withdrew a datapad from his heavy desert robes. “One million five hundred thousand on the starting price plus the windshield on top, additional seating and my worker’s fee… That will be two million credits. Would you like to pay by chips or holocredit?”

Scourge’s smile did not falter. “I have a better deal for you.”

The merchant blanched. “Oh? What’s that?”

With a hiss, Scourge activated and brought up his lightsabre, the blade's tip dancing dangerously close to the old man’s throat. “I will take the speeder or I will take your life.”

*

The Baron’s engines growled as Scourge pressed his foot on the accelerator. Kilometres of Tattooinian desert stretched in front and behind him. The dunes rose and fell like the backs of enormous slumbering beasts. Rock formations, shaped by millennia of wind and sand, sprouted form the ground like monstrous plants. A herd of banthas lowed as he sped past them. Womp rats scurried from his path. Above him, the twin suns blazed, beating down on his hairless pate. If he wasn’t careful, he would become dehydrated. But he didn’t care. He had plenty of hydropacks on the seat beside him. All he cared about was the feeling of the wind whipping over his face, pulling at his cheek tendrils. He wanted to take the speeder to its limits, to go as fast as it was possible to go. He had no particular destination in mind. He was heading in the general direction of Mos Eisley. He would know when he was near because of the increased number of moisture farms and vaporators dotting the landscape. But this was also something he paid little attention to. If he arrived anywhere, he would simply keep on going.

Never had he felt such a sense of… of _freedom_ before. To simply get in a speeder and drive it across the desert. He could easily spend the rest of his life doing this sort of thing. No galactic politics or the threat of doom. Just him and his speeder. Riding across the dunes. For a long time, he forgot he used to be the Emperor’s Wrath. He also forgot about the Republic, the Jedi, Kyros. He even forgot about his pain.

_I have never felt so alive._

The dunes fell away, replaced by the towering rocky walls of the Jundland Wastes. Even before his time serving the Emperor, he could not remember ever feeling a moment of such joy. Of such peace.

_Peace is a lie._

Pain lanced through his body. It was so intense, so agonising that his vision blurred. The rocks fell away again, their shadows vanishing like smoke. Opening his eyes, he saw with horror that he was fast approaching the edge of a cliff. He skidded to a stop, swerving right up to edge. Breathing hard, he sat there, sweating, trying to master the pain. It intensified again, causing him to wince. He groped for the hydropacks beside him. It took six of them to quench his thirst.

Hours could have passed before he came back to himself. His red skin was caked in sweat, making his vest stick to his torso. The heat, which had been somewhat irritating before, had become unbearable. He wished now he’d brought a shade of some kind.

_You will never know peace._

The Emperor’s face loomed before him, much like it had in his deepest nightmares. When he had been his servant, Scourge had noticed the pain increase depending on the Emperor’s mood. No matter where he was in the Galaxy, he could always sense when Vitiate was in a towering rage. Not that the immortal abomination ever felt anything as natural as rage. Rage, in his case, was the increased absence in the Force, channelling the void. His rage had been a cold, dead thing. Empty. Meaningless. A shadow of existence.

Oftentimes, he fancied he could still hear Vitiate’s voice calling him back to his side. All it would take would be to imagine Kyros vanquishing him, filling his mind with warmth and life. With peace.

_Peace is a lie._

He had been Sith too long to know peace was unobtainable. Staring at the steering yoke, Scourge wanted to yank it off and toss it over the cliff. What was he doing, driving about like some youngling who had recently come of age? He was being ridiculous. Why had Kyros let him indulge in this absurd whimsy? The Jedi was too noble for his own good. Scourge had always said so. And now, he’d made him realise precisely how weak Scourge truly was.

_I am weak. I have always been weak._

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

This was the first thing he had asked Kyros the moment they left Dromund Kaas. The Hero of Tython, sitting alone in the Defender's cockpit, stared out of the viewport with a heavy frown on his face. As he looked at Scourge, his face sagged with tiredness.

“Killing him wouldn’t have accomplished anything,” he said. “He had to answer for his crimes.”

This sentence was almost enough for Scourge to lose all the respect he had for the Jedi. “He is not some second-rate Sith Lord ruling over an insignificant planet. The Emperor is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. You know this. You fought him. His power known no limit. Letting him live is a death sentence for the Galaxy.”

Kyros scowled. “And what makes you so sure of that? What makes you think that killing him was precisely what he wanted me to do?”

“He fears death. He would stop at nothing to live forever.”

“And yet he chose to die before I could bring my lightsabre to bear. What do you think of that, Scourge?”

The Sith wrinkled his nose. “I knew it. You were too weak. Too merciful to do what needed to be done. I should have faced him. Given the chance, I would have cut him down without hesitation.”

"You had three hundred years to do that," Kyros retorted. "And yet you waited."

Scourge nodded. "Because I believed you would be the one to vanquish him. I suppose even the Force can be wrong sometimes."

"Vanquish does not always equate to murder. He was defenceless. I couldn't bring myself to cut him down."

"Then why did I waste all those centuries?"

“He would’ve have crushed you,” Kyros said, the first hints of irritation coating his words. “As you well know. It’s exactly why you didn’t come with me to his temple in the first place. Besides, don’t think I don’t know what your true motives are. You only want to kill the Emperor so you can be mortal again. It’s not like you care about the rest of the Galaxy. The only thing you care about is yourself.”

The sneer on Scourge’s face melted. “How dare you! After everything we’ve done and been through together, how can you even have the gall to sit there and question my motives?” He beat at his breast plate. “I have more than proven to you and everyone in your pathetic Jedi Order that all I wanted was to stop the Emperor eliminating all life in the Galaxy. Yes, becoming mortal again was part of that, but it was by no means the only thing I wanted out of this. Immortality wasn’t even on my mind when I helped Revan and the Exile.”

Kyros squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I have no right to question you. And I _was_ ready to kill him. Believe me, I wanted to. But when the moment came, I… I couldn’t. There he was at my feet, the most dangerous being in the universe. Keeping him as prisoner wouldn’t stop him from enacting his plans. I knew that.”

“So then what held your blade?”

He looked lost for words. “I can’t answer that.”

The sneer returned to Scourge’s face. “Then I was right. The Jedi have made you weak. Had you have been Sith, you would not have hesitated.”

With that, he stormed out of the cockpit.

Over the next few weeks, he had wanted to challenge Kyros again. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he imagined that getting to the bottom of why he had been merciful would bring some kind of closure. He believed him when he said the Emperor had simply vanished, or “died”, at his feet, claiming to have done so of his own choosing rather than be executed by a Jedi Knight. But Vitiate was too cunning. Scourge knew now he was out there somewhere. Biding his time. Waiting another millennium to make his next move. 

Even so, he held his tongue, knowing that the more he interrogated Kyros, the less he’d want to explain. Instead, Scourge remained tight-lipped and angry as he was awarded the Cross of Glory and Scourge was looked down upon like a venn-bug that had got out of its cage. Even the Grandmaster, immediately after praising his efforts, had accused him of joining their cause for “selfish reasons”.

Ungrateful. The lot of them. None of them would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Scourge. And what had he got in return? Snide looks and a lecture mercy. 

Already, the smaller of Tatooine’s suns was dipping towards the horizon. In the distance, he thought he heard the shriek of a krayt dragon and, perhaps, the call of Sand People. While he had no doubt he could dispatch them if ever they crossed his path, Scourge thought they were best avoided in any case. He did not want another spasm in the middle of fighting them.

Starting up the engine again, he sped off westwards, heading deeper into the Jundland Wastes. 


	3. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Scourge is forced to set up camp for the night and find shelter where he can meditate on his pain. The cry for help from a stranger brings an end to his musings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get a fight scene in this one????? It was oddly fun to write and I hope it's fun to read!! Enjoy. :) x

_There is an appeal to immortality, to become as still and eternal as stone, as bright and enduring as the stars. Their lives span millions of years, witnessing the rise and collapse of countless civilisations._

_Did this same rock exist when the Rakata ravaged this world?_

_This grain of sand… what atrocities has it seen? How many culls of the Radier's camps, how many wandering travellers disembowled? How many times has it circled the entirety of this sordid planet to end up here, in this exact spot, so I can pick it up and hold it in the palm of my hand?_

_If only I knew the true cost of living forever. Not just this pain. But the inability to laugh, to love… to live. What is the point of living forever if you can’t live? Your mind must be twisted beyond words, Vitiate, if you yourself have existed this long without realising that there are far worse things in this galaxy than death._

_Yet all he wants to be is a rock. A grian of sand. Eternal but immobile._

_Existing, but not_ alive.

 _I am alive. I keep reminding myself of that every day. I am alive. I am a sentient being. I feel, I laugh, I love and I_ live. _This is what Kyros has shown me. I am not an inaminate object designed to outlive the universe and nothing more. I am not a rock or a grain of sand. I am heartbreakingly mobile. I exist to die. And that’s what makes life worth living. It makes you appreciate the impermanence of everything. Even the Celestials did not last. The Infinite Empire was not so infinite._

_All things die._

_And that is what makes them beautiful._

*

How could he have got himself so lost? Sunset on Tattooine was a spectacular sight, but in the dual shadows they cast, the landscape felt unfamiliar and dangerous. This was especially true in the Jundland which, in spite of Scourge’s best efforts, he had failed to navigate out of. A couple of times, he narrowly dodged a stray blaster bolt shot from a Sand Raider’s rifle on top of the rock formations that he passed. A few even scored deep burns in the speeder’s fresh paintwork.

What had he been thinking coming this way? What had he been thinking getting a speeder and going on this ridiculous trip in the first place? Had he really been so naïve to think that he would be magically cured of his ailment if he piloted his speeder quickly enough? It made him want to scream.

Why was he so pathetic?

The suns were dipping below the horizon now. There was almost no light left save for the illumination cast from Scourge’s headlights. The temperature had dropped significantly, making him shiver for the first time all day. At this rate, he would have to stop to set up camp, something he had not wanted to do, especially here. But it would seem as if he had no choice.

Parking the speeder in an outcrop that was well hidden in shadow, he got out his rucksack and started setting up his camp. He was halfway in propping his tent up when a voice behind him said, “Need a hand?”

Scourge whipped out his lightsabre and held it aloft, his heart racing. The crimson glow illuminated the face of an Ithorian who raised his long-fingered hands and backed away in alarm. Scourge had been so focused on what he was doing he hadn’t sensed the creature's approach.

Wary, Scourge lowered the blade but didn’t deactivate it.

“No,” he said. “I do not need any assistance.”

The Ithorian continued to back away. “I apologise. I did not mean to alarm you.”

Scourge probed the being in front of him. Definitely not a Force user and genuinely sincere in its intentions. Still, just because danger could not be sensed did not mean it wasn’t there.

“I will take my leave,” the Ithorian said as it went on its way. Only when he was out of sight did Scourge put his weapon away. Within half an hour, he’d forgotten about the Ithorian entirely.

*

The one thing Scourge never anticipated about immortality was forgetting that no other being, aside from Vitiate, shared his condition. He only came to realise this fifty years after becoming the Emperor’s Wrath.

Tasked with quashing a rebellion on a planet he could no longer recall the name of, Scourge succeeded in capturing the rebel leader and bringing him back to the imperial stronghold on Dromund Kaas. If he had things his way, he would’ve simply executed the prisoner on the spot, but for some unknown reason, Vitiate as well as a few other Dark Council members wanted him alive. And so, he had thrown the man in prison, though receiving no communication about what was to be done with him, Scourge simply forgot about him. He did, after all, have more important things to think about. He was the Emperor’s Wrath, not some common bounty hunter.

However, due to a mishap involving an incompetent imperial governor, the rebel leader was left to rot in that prison cell deep within the Emperor’s dungeon. With no food, water or any contact with other sentient beings, he simply died. It was only until a whole decade had passed that Scourge actually remembered he was there and went to check on the long-forgotten prisoner only to find a skeleton.

Fortunately, everyone else had forgotten about the rebel leader too, meaning Scourge was neither punished nor even scolded for this mishap. What troubled him was how he’d let so much time slip past without even noticing. In his mind, those ten years had felt no longer than a month, and yet every moment he’d endured felt like a small eternity. It even acquainted him with the fact that he’d been the Emperor's Wrath for more than half a century and this in turn made him realise just how long he might have to wait before seeing the end of Vitiate. Before he was made immortal, he hadn’t had time to digest the fact that he could be waiting a long time, hundreds if not thousands of years. With no one to confide in or discuss about his condition, he went to speak to Vitiate himself, only to be met with cold indifference.

“Only the strong can live forever,” he said in his chilling voice. “Are you not strong, Lord Scourge?”

The question held no inflexion but the threat was clear. Perhaps he made a mistake in making Scourge his Wrath. And for the briefest moment, Scourge wondered what would happen if he were to say “no”. What if he told Vitiate he no longer wanted to do this? Would he be killed or made to suffer unendurable agony for all eternity? Whatever the outcome, it could not have been worse than what he was currently experiencing. Maybe it was better to just end it all. To give up. Revan had even told him visions of the future were not a certainty. If the Jedi he’d seen in his vision were to vanquish the Emperor, surely he would’ve appeared by now. How much longer will he have to spend being Vitiate’s hound?

What Scourge ended up saying was, “Of course, my Lord Emperor,” as he sank to one knee. “I only exist to serve you."

“And you will never forget it.”

As the being known as Emperor Vitiate fixed him with his cold, empty stare, Scourge knew that he meant it. More than he would ever know.

_But I do not serve you now. You are no longer my emperor. I am free._

No matter how many times he told himself this, the words rang hollow. It was as though some small tether of his being was still tied to Vitiate, wherever he was now. Even if he was a disembodied spirit or alive in some other form, Scourge knew that as long as he existed, the pain would never leave him. Until that day, he would simply have to endure.

That did not mean, however, that there was not a way he could lessen his bondage. There had to be some method of numbing the pain, even if it was temporary. Living as an emancipated being didn’t work. So there had to be another way.

*

Scourge had been dozing off in front of the fire he’d made when he heard the sounds. They were far off and indistinct but enough to wake him. Then again, it took little to wake him these days. Grunting, he sat up, trying to attune his senses.

Sand People? Naturally, he should’ve suspected as much. He knew little of Tatooine but knew enough that its natives had the tendency to come out after dark. Why wouldn’t they? On Korriban, sometimes the only way to escape the scorching heat was to become nocturnal. But Scourge suspected the Sand People came out at night because it made stalking their prey a lot easier. As a former hunter himself, he understood.

Laying back down, he tried to tune out the barbaric noises. That was until he heard another sound. A distressed cry.

Bolting upright, he strained to listen. There was no mistaking it. Someone was crying out. For help. Quietly, he crept to the mouth of his semi-cave. It was still dark and he could see very little. But the Sand People calls were unmistakably growing louder every second. Their quarry, or victim, sounded more and more distressed. It seemed as if they were being chased. He could even feel the being’s sense of fear.

Part of him was tempted to go back to his sleeping bag and pretend he couldn’t hear it. Another, much larger part of him, a part that spoke in Kyros’ voice, wanted to see what he could do to help.

Shaking his head, he hissed as he stepped back from the cave’s mouth. What was he doing, thinking of helping some weak individual like he was some Jedi? If that person was foolish enough to wander the Jundland Wastes at such an hour, they had it coming.

“It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak,” Kyros had once said, a comment Scourge had scorned at. The weak did not deserve help. They were naturally inferior. It was the duty of the weak to serve the strong, and if they couldn’t, they served no purpose.

_But I am weak. I have always been weak._

“Help! Someone please, help!”

The desperate cries grew louder. Scourge winced, his fist clenched around his lightsabre.

_Are you not strong?_

_It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak._

Flinging himself from the cave, he dashed across the rocky terrain towards the source of the sounds. He didn’t have to travel far. Ahead, under the light of Tatooine’s moons, he saw the large shapes of bantha-mounted Sand Raiders encircling a single being. As he moved closer, his perception sharpened and he saw that it was the Ithorian, the same who’d offered to help him set up camp. It was on the floor, looking up in unmistakable terror at his aggressors who howled their triumph at catching their prey.

Their noises ceased the moment Scourge activated his lightsabre.

“Only cowards stalk their victims after dark.”

He didn’t know what made him say it. He wasn’t even sure if the Sand People knew Basic. Either way, they turned to him and barked their dismay. Those that were dismounted rushed at him with their primitive clubs and gaderffiis. Scourge cut them down, but doing so was not as easy as he might have imagined. The Raiders lacked the caution and self-preservation of other sentients throughout the Galaxy. They were warriors, born and bred, raised from birth to kill and ravage. In a way, they were not unlike the Sith. Only their absence of the Force and their berserker mentality separated them. Scourge could almost respect that. But their unwillingness to attack under the eyes of the twin suns made his lip curl. He had been wrong to think the Sand People were simply being cautious. A real warrior would face his opponent regardless of the circumstances.

Even so, as crude and wild as their tactics were, they were effective. After slicing one Raider in half and decapitating another, Scourge was hit in the back by the blunt edge of a gaffi stick which made him grunt and stumble forward. Using the rage it induced, he turned and dismembered the Raider before carving a deep chasm in the creature’s chest. In that time, another had jumped onto his back with another smacking him round the face. He only managed to avoid being stabbed with the sharp end of another gaderffii by throwing the Raider on his back into the one in front. Then, calling on the Dark Side, he used a single clear bolt of lightning to fry them both.

“Look out!”

The Ithorian’s warning had come just in time. With a roar, the last two sand people charged at Scourge atop their banthas. The other banthas had fled during the first signs of battle. The remaining beasts looked crazed, their eyes rolling madly as Scourge leapt over them before their horns could skewer him. Before they could turn and charge again, Scourge threw his sabre in a curving arc, cutting through both of the loathsome creatures in a single clean strike. The first Raider was crushed under the weight of its bantha as it collapsed. The other managed to roll out of the way before grabbing its gaderffii and raising it into the air with a strangled war cry.

Scourge was more than ready to meet its charge. He raised his sabre to make the final blow when pain that had nothing to do with the injuries he’d sustained wracked his body. He bent over and clutched at his abdomen. For a moment, he couldn’t see or hear anything. Everything else had vanished. He was even deaf to his own screams. All that was left was this agony.

_You are weak, Scourge. You can't even face being immortal._

His vision cleared just in time to see the Raider raise its abominable weapon to pierce him through the heart.

_I am not weak. I will not let this become me._

He drove his sabre deep through the Raider’s stomach. Its cry faded into a soft, almost human, whimper. Gritting his teeth, Scourge drove it deeper still, relishing in the masked Raider’s agony in its final moments of life. He only yanked the blade out once the body went limp.

Long moments passed before he was able to stand again. The Ithorian lay on the floor uninjured. It was breathing heavily through its two mouths as it gazed up at Scourge.

“Thank you,” it said. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

The Sith deactivated his blade. “I don’t need your gratitude,” he sneered. “You were stupid to wander around the Jundland Wastes at this hour. You’re lucky not to have been killed.” He wanted to add, _And you were lucky I decided to help_ , but didn’t.

Sufficiently cowed, the Ithorian dipped its head. “I was looking for shelter. They found me before I could get out of sight.”

A new feeling rose inside Scourge. It was a feeling he had not experienced for more than three centuries and was long battered out of him by his training at the Sith Academy on Dromund Kaas.

Guilt.

Hanging his sabre at his belt, he moved forward. “Can you get up?”

“I think so.” The Ithorian got to its feet shakily. Only then did Scourge realise how old it must’ve been. Being of a different species, he was unable to tell.

“Then start moving,” he said.

Nodding, the Ithorian began to hobble away.

“Where are you going?”

The Ithorian turned, confused. “But you said—”

“It’s still dark and you need shelter. Obviously, we need to go back to my camp. It isn’t far.”

With a cry of gratitude, the Ithorian said, “Oh, thank you, Stranger! You have no idea how much this means.”

“Shut up and follow me,” Scourge grumbled as he and his new companion went back to the camp. He was sure not to walk too quickly so that the old Ithorian could keep up with him.


	4. Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scourge reminisces and has a heart-to-heart with the strange Ithorian he'd just saved. Could this be the salvation he has been searching for?

_I think it’s pretty obvious that I hate myself. Every glance in the mirror disgusts me. All I see is a man, a Sith, who has done terrible things in the name of an Emperor who would rather have him, along with all other life in the galaxy, extinguished._

_I did it for a reason. I had a purpose. It was to ultimately bring him down._

_That did not mean I didn’t loathe every second of it or loathe myself for doing the things I did just to maintain the pretence. For three centuries I kept up my role. It’s difficult to even recall what precisely happened in all that time. All I know for sure is that I tortured, maimed and killed so that Vitiate would never suspect my true motives._

_He came close once._

_It was after discovering an entire outpost of rebels on Ziost. He wanted them eliminated. And he wanted me to do it. It was the first and the last time I protested. Surely, an aerial bombardment would do better than a single warrior? It would be much cleaner, more efficient. Wiping out the entire area would be sure to do the job more effectively._

_Vitiate would not hear it. He sat perched on his dark throne like a bird of prey, his black robes hanging plume-like from his barely corporeal body. The malice I saw in his eyes when he looked at me…_

_"You have reservations, Lord Scourge?”_

_I had a difficult time maintaining my composure. “None, my lord Emperor. I was merely suggesting—”_

_"Perhaps you feel sympathy towards these rebels. Perhaps you long to see them bring me down.”_

_He’d hit closer to home than he might have imagined. I knew that the leader of the rebels had been an old friend of mine, a friend who I had confided in through secret meetings about my true intentions. I had been an immortal for a century up until that point and I needed someone to share my experiences with. Share my pain._

_This was a mistake. I learnt that the hard way. Not only had my true feelings inspired him to create this band of rebels, it was well within his power to share them with the Emperor. I had risked cover all because I wanted to talk about my feelings. I swore never to expose such a weakness again._

_"None whatsoever, my lord. They are worse than scum. They’re traitors and cowards. Death is all they deserve.”_

_“Which you will deliver to them,” Vitiate told me, the air growing colder around him. “Up close and personal. No aerial bombardment.”_

_Panicked, I wondered if he knew more than he was letting on. The insane glint in his eye seemed to suggest as much. But, like a good puppet, I carried out the order. I slaughtered every single rebel on Ziost. I even killed their families. Innocent men, women and children died at my hand. There were no survivors._

_I told myself that it was for a greater cause. Their deaths would save an entire galaxy from becoming a barren wasteland like Nathema. If I disobeyed, Vitiate would have killed me and then there would have been nobody to stop him, nobody who knew of his terrible secret. If I had spared them, they or their descendants would suffer a fate worse than death itself. But that didn’t stop me from seeing their blood on my hands. In my dreams. In my nightmares. To this day, I could still hear their screams._

_It had all been for nothing._

_Vitiate had survived his encounter with Kyros. All I had done, all I had sacrificed, and he was still alive. I should have known better. I should have killed him myself when I had the chance. In all three hundred years I served as his lapdog, how many of those came my way?_

_"You seem conflicted, Lord Scourge.”_

_Even after I carried out his order to massacre the rebels, Vitiate was still unsatisfied._

_"Conflicted, my lord?”_

_He stood up, his cloak taking far too long to fall to the ground. “Yes. I sense you are having doubts about your place at my side.” He raised a hand. “So, let me remind you where your loyalties should lie.”_

_Pain such as I had never felt ripped through my body like a thousand lightsabre blades. It was beyond agony. It was nothing any mortal being could endure. But I was immortal. I had no choice._

_I cannot remember much of it. I believe my vision went black. All I can recall was my screams and my pleas for mercy. I no longer cared about the galaxy. He could have killed me if he wanted to. I just wanted it to stop._

_"You are weak,” he told me in his death cold voice. “You have always been weak.”_

_Only until I was whimpering like an animal did he cease my torment. Rather than granting me the death I craved, he left me at the foot of his throne to linger over the memory of it. He only did so because he knew that if he pushed me any further, I would have lost my mind, and he seldom needed a jibbering madman for a Wrath._

_"Get up,” he commanded._

_As I struggled to my feet, I felt invisible ropes pull me upwards, binding me in place. He stared blankly into my eyes, his pupils flashing scarlet._

_"You are mine,” he said. “Never forget that, Lord Scourge. You are mine.”_

*

“I don’t know how I can possibly thank you.” The Ithorian was continuing to chatter and it was getting on Scourge’s nerves to the point he almost wished he hadn’t saved it. “Seriously, how could I ever—?”

“You can thank me,” the Sith interrupted at last, “by keeping those mouths of yours shut until morning.”

He rolled over in his sleeping bag, facing away from the Ithorian and the fire which they had rekindled since returning to his camp. Around them, the deep Tatooine night went on. All was silent. They never heard either the low of banthas or the call of any more sand raiders. They may well have been the sole beings on the entire planet.

_I wouldn’t be entirely alone in any case._

Sighing, he turned around and said, “Maybe we can talk a little.”

The Ithorian snapped its head up. “Huh, whu—? Sorry, I was nearly asleep.”

“I said we can talk a bit.”

“Oh. Okay. I thought you didn’t want to.”

“Well, your breathing is more insufferable.” This was only partly true. The needle stabs of pain over Scourge’s body was far more bothersome.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” A long pause. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“Why don’t we start with what you were doing out here in the middle of the night to begin with?”

The Ithorian swallowed. “I was, erm… I was lost. I got lost on my desert hike during the day and when I stopped to take a nap, I slept too much and before I knew it, it was dark and I couldn’t find my way back.”

Scourge raised his hackles. “You were _hiking_? On Tatooine?”

“It’s more common than you might think.”

He shook his head. He should’ve guessed the Ithorian was a complete imbecile. “So then you started looking for shelter?”

“Pretty much.” Another pause. “So, what are you doing out here? Not hiking like me, I presume.”

Scourge shook his head. “I was taking my speeder out for a drive.”

“I see.” The alien turned it’s T-shaped eye stalk towards the idle Baron. “Mighty fine speeder you got, I must say.”

Scourge grunted.

“Did you come out here to clear your head or something?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

The Ithorian made a deep noise in its four throats. “Sometimes, the desert holds no answers. You have to turn your gaze inward.”

“That,” Scourge said, “is less appealing.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“A lot of people say that,” the Ithorian said, “when they want to avoid their pain.”

This made Scourge laugh. “And what do you know of pain?”

“More than you might think. I’m older than I look.”

Was this alien for real? “Believe me,” Scourge muttered, turning his head back towards the fire. “I’m much older than _I_ look.”

The Ithorian chose to ignore this. “I have been living with pain my entire life.” It waved its abnormally long digits. Scourge noticed an alarming amount of scar tissue across the leathery skin. “When I was a youngling, my father used to whip my hands until they were raw. One time, he got a bit too angry and took things a little too far. I take kolto to treat it but there is no cure, save from chopping my hands off.” He laughed at that but Scourge failed to understand what was so funny. “Occasionally, I have to up my kolto dosage because my body becomes immune to its effects. Either that or the pain becomes more insistent. I swear, sometimes pain can be sentient and feels neglected if you don’t acknowledge that it’s there.”

“Yes,” Scourge said. “I can understand that.”

“It’s a sad state of affairs when all we can do at times is simply endure.”

A hot balloon of shame inflated inside him at these words. They rang so uncomfortably true. “And what happens if you get sick of enduring? What if you just want it to end?” He fought with all his being not to say "I" instead of "you". 

The Ithorian sighed. “You’ve got to let yourself feel like that from time to time, otherwise you might go mad.”

“No,” Scourge said, scowling. “It makes you weak.”

“Weak? How are you weak when you have endured for so long?” The fire crackled between them, throwing out its warmth. “I have lived long enough to understand the nature of pain,” the Ithorian went on after a moment. “It is meant to be felt. Sometimes we endure, sometimes we don’t. And that’s okay.”

Hackles raised once again, Scouge turned back to his original position. Blasted Ithorian! It had no idea what it was talking about. How could it be okay to endure when one’s existence was nothing but endurance? How could one endure when there was no way to be healed?

_Existence is endurance._

And if one could not endure, they did not deserve to live. Scourge did not deserve to live. How could he? He was just so tired of it all.

“How can you not feel anything but hatred?” he asked the rock beside him. “Towards your father. He gave you that pain. Without him, you wouldn’t have it.”

“That is true,” the Ithorian said.

“So why?”

It didn’t say anything for a long while. “Do not think it has never crossed my mind. Even after he died, I have experienced moments where I hated my father more than I could say. It was all I had to cling onto. In the end, it brought me nothing but more misery. So I forgave him.”

“You _forgave_ him?”

“Not for his sake,” the Ithorian said. “No. I forgave him for my own. And in doing so, I was allowed to forgive myself.”

*

The night went on but Scourge was still far from sleep. The fire had gone out now so he could only see the outline of the Ithorian who snored deeply. He kept going over and over the conversation they'd had in his mind. 

Kyros had spoken a lot about forgiveness. Until now, Scourge had believed it to be nothing more than Jedi nonsense, an excuse for being weak. How can anyone be capable of forgiving when so much wrong had been done to them?

And yet this Ithorian had. It — _he —_ had forgiven his own blasted father for injuring his hands. Had that been Scourge, he might have dealt out the same punishment a thousand-fold, just so they could feel what he could. This brought him a moment of satisfaction as he imagined making the lacerations. He could no longer remember his own father’s face. In his place was Lord Vitiate who screamed and begged for mercy.

Yes. If only he could hurt Vitiate the way he’d hurt him.

His head snapped around, panic rising in his chest. What if Vitiate could read his thoughts? Scourge always knew he’d been omniscient in some way, or close to it. What kind of punishment, what kind of _pain_ , would that creature put him through if he ever found out? His chest grew tighter as he imagined it. Vitiate creeping up to him in the darkness. Vitiate using the Force to tug on every single nerve ending, setting them on fire. Vitiate who alone decided how long Scourge should experience this torment before pulling back, allowing him to recover… only to punish him again. And again. And again. 

Pain prickled throughout his body once more and he squeezed his eyes shut, clutching himself.

_No_ , he thought. _No, no, no! I will not let you take over me. Not again._

Except he already had. The moment he decided join Vitiate, he’d forfeited a pain-free existence. Now all he could do was endure and suffer. The Emperor was too powerful to feel pain. Even if, in some unimaginable way, he could deal it to him out of revenge it wouldn’t work. Vitiate was beyond such things. He no longer felt like other beings did.

_What about forgiveness? Could I forgive Vitiate?_

The idea was absurd. Vitiate was a monster who deserved neither compassion nor pity. Even Darth Nyriss had said, more than three centuries ago, he was a child of the void, born with a soul as empty as the space between stars. To forgive him would be to forgive a predator devouring prey. It couldn’t help it; it was in its nature.

_What about me? Do I deserve forgiveness?_

He’d done many terrible things. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that, even now, members of Kyros’ trusted him. You simply didn’t stop being the Emperor’s main enforcer overnight. Their caution was understandable, but they didn’t understand how necessary it was and how he’d wanted, every night for all those years, to forsake the galaxy and end his own suffering.

Even if he could forgive himself, what would that accomplish? This wasn’t psychosomatic. The pain would still be there. Unhindred. Unhealing.

He thought back over what the Ithorian had said. Once upon a time, he might have embraced hatred. But the alien was right about one thing — now all it seemed to do was bring Scourge more misery. He had bore witness to the redemptive power of more positive emotions. Kyros could have killed many people who deserved it. Yet he spared them. Not out of pride or some sense of moral righteousness. Because, like how devouring life was in the Emperor’s nature, killing needlessly was not in Kyros’.

In the same vain, forgiveness was not in Scourge’s nature. So, how could he be expected to be able to forgive anyone, let alone himself?

Only, that wasn’t exactly true. He had forgiven Kyros. Since his confrontation, he’d come to understand why he’d spared Vitiate’s life, aside from knowing it would be futile. Doing so would have made him like the Emperor. And Kyros was _not_ the Emperor.

That was why Scourge loved him.

Sighing, he rested his hands on his chest, staring up at the rocky ceiling. Perhaps he did have it in him to forgive himself. Perhaps he didn’t. And he wasn’t sure how exactly doing so would allow him to heal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. It was going to be a long and arduous process. He was going to make mistakes, stray down the wrong path from time to time. Wasn’t that the point, though? Was it not the journey you learn from, and not the destination?

Outside, the first light of dawn crept over the rocky landscape of the Jundland. Scourge observed it and, for what felt like the first time, smiled to himself as he felt its warmth touch his face. His pain had not gone away, nor had it lessened. But now it seemed less important, less bothersome.

_I am not weak. I have never been weak. I have endured._

_*_

The suns rose high above the desert as the Baron raced across the sand, this time carrying two passengers, one Sith and one Ithorian. The Ithorian was clutching at his hat while the Sith dodged and weaved between the dunes, barely suppressing a smile of delight. A small wind had picked up, blowing the sand into eddies. In the morning light, they appeared beautiful to Scourge, like the raindrops glistening off the dark vine leaves of Dromund Kaas after a summer storm. Beauty existed even in the darkest corners of the galaxy. All one needed to do was look.

They arrived at Anchorhead just as the winds died down, giving way to the blazing heat of the day. The Ithorian disembarked in front of the local cantina, looking slightly ill but otherwise came round to the driver’s side and shook Scourge’s hand.

“I can’t… thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.”

He seemed a little breathless but Scourge nodded.

“Will you be all right getting to your lodgings?”

“Yes, I think so. It isn’t far.” He pointed with a trembling finger. “It’s just up that way.” His voice trembled the more he spoke. "Apologies. Just a little taken by the ride across the dunes. I’m not as young as I used to be.” His wheezing grew steadily more audible as his two mouths worked to bring air into his body. “Take care of yourself now,” he said. “Wherever you go.”

Scourge inclined his head in acknowledgement. “There’s very little I can’t take care of.” And that, he realised, should include himself.

As the Ithorian shuffled away, he went into the cantina to top up on hydration capsules. He wasn’t going to stay on Tatooine much longer but knew Kyros was running low. It was as he exited the cantina once again that he saw a small crowd gathered around a form lying in the sand. From this distance, Scourge could only see the figure’s feet. They were Ithorian.

Dropping the hydration capsules, he rushed over, barging past a man dressed head-to-toe in rags.

“No,” he said. “ _No._ ”

The Ithorian’s hands were shaking violently, his great black eyes tight shut. Scourge knelt down beside him, scooping him into his powerful arms. The Ithorian’s eyes opened slowly, a long-winded sigh escaping its two mouths. For the first time since they met, Scourge reached out with the Force, scanning him deeply.

“You’re dying,” he muttered. “You were dying this whole time.”

He wasn’t sure if Ithorian’s could smile, but he was sure this Ithorian did as he looked up into his face.

“Why?” To his surprise, Scourge could hear his own voice threateneing to break. “Why did you let me save you?”

The Ithorian said nothing. All he did was reach up with those fingers that shook so terribly and touch the end of Scourge’s cheek tendril. No. He was wrong. The Ithorian hadn’t let him save his life. Scourge had chosen to. Would he have still done it if he’d known?

_Yes,_ he thought. _Yes, I would._

The hand fell from his cheek and landed in the sand, no longer trembling. The Ithorian ‘s bulbous eyes stared, half-lidded, the suns reflected in them. Around them, the sand blew, robes rippled and awnings creaked.

Scourge had no idea how long he remained hunched over the Ithorian, holding him. All he remembered was a group of sympathetic locals taking him back into the cantina. None of them seemed to be the shady criminals he’d imagined when he first arrived here. Their faces were craggy and hard, but kind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the barmaid said as she handed him his drink.

“Were you close?” a moisture farmer asked.

Scourge stared into his blue concoction without even seeing it. All he could see was the Ithorian’s final smile and his glassy stare. His hands trembled. Why? He had bore witness to all kinds of death and destruction. He’d seen villages lined up and shot for Imperial soldiers, seen other Sith Lords cleave other beings in two. He’d even seen whole planets burn, yet the death of this strange Ithorian cut him more deeply than any of it.

At last, he raised the drink to his lips and downed it in one. It tasted metallic and burned his throat. It was good.

“I didn’t even know his name.”


	5. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again rejoined with the crew, Scourge reconciles with his experience on Tatooine and has a heart-to-heart with Kyros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the end!! Thank y'all for reading. It's been a pleasure to write and somewhat cathartic for me. This chapter's shorter than normal but I feel it's appropriate. Enjoy!! <3

_The ugliness of immortality is watching those you care about age and die while you continiue to exist, unchanging and eternal. Not that I had many to care for in these past centuries. Sith culture does not cultivate friendship or comradery. Despite our longing for passion, it is little more than a tool — a tool to harness greater power. Power even to defy death itself. After all, existence is all there is. There is nothing after death. Only the void._

_But they’re wrong._

_If existence is all there is, we must spend all our energies making the most of the time we have, not expending futile efforts to extend it. This is something Vitiate will never understand. He is alone in the universe and does not care for other beings. What is it to him if people die? As long as his own lifespan continues, it ultimately comes to dust. He is afraid of death. I pity him for it. The impermanence of life is what allows one to enjoy its greatest aspects._

_Beauty. Friendship. Love._

_Even pain makes life worth living. In its own way, it brings comfort. It allows you to appreciate the glorious, non-painful aspects of your life. Immortality, on the other hand, is nothing but pain, and more than in just the physical sense._

_I have often had visions of Kyros dying. Sometimes by the lightsabre. Sometimes by old age. I have seen his fierce black beard grow white before my eyes, his smooth skin wrinkle, and his powerful body grow weary. It has forced me to confront the horrible truth that he will, eventually, die. Whether buried on Tython or on his homeworld, a mighty tomb will be constructed to commemorate all his life achievements. He will go down in history to represent all the glory of the Jedi, the Hero of Tython, the benevolent light in the neverending war against the darkness._

_But I… I will linger._

_I will visit his tomb everyday as the trees wither around me and every last brick of every last structure crumbles. Even as the planet implodes under the force of its own expanding star, I will still exist as the same Lord Scourge I have always been. Only until every star in the galaxy burns out and every day of my long,_ long _life is disbursed._

_There will be nothing to comfort me. Nothing to bring me joy. Kyros’ death will undo me. If I were mortal, at least I could draw some comfort in the knowledge that, whatever exists beyond, we may be reunited someday. As it stands, I will have to taste the rancid pill of mortality and endure._

  
_That is why I must destroy Vitiate. Only until he comes to death will I meet my own. Whether I have to wait ten years or another hundred, I will vanquish him. Not out of vengeance. Not even out of spite or anger. But so that we can both find peace._

*

“That was a noble thing you did, Scourge.” Kyros was doing his best to comfort him as they sat together aboard the _Defender,_ Tatooine long behind them. “Even if you had known the Ithorian’s condition, you still would’ve done the right thing.”

Scourge wasn’t sure he agreed. Days had passed since his excursion and he’d spent the majority of that time locked up in his quarters brooding. He almost forgot his pain as he recalled again and again the light vanishing from the Ithorian’s eyes.

“If I had left him,” he said, speaking for what felt like the first time since leaving the desert Outer Rim world. “If I had left the raiders take him, it might have been a mercy killing. I mean, if he was going to die anyway…”

“Then he would’ve suffered a painful, frightening death at the hands of savage beings,” Kyros said. “And he would’ve died alone.” The Jedi reached out and took Scourge’s hand. “At least this way, he had you to help him on his way.”

This brought little reassurance. “All I did was hold his body as he died.”

“Sometimes, that is all that’s needed.”

Scourge wiped his face of the stray tear he’d let pass down his cheek and sighed. He hoped Kyros hadn’t seen, but he probably had. Either way, he didn’t mention it.

“You know,” he said after a silence, “I’ve been thinking while you were gone.” He paused, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “After our trip to Dromund Kaas, once everything that needed to be done was done… The way they treated you — the Jedi Council and the Republic representatives — was unfair. I wanted to say something even then, to come to your defence. I know I should have. But I was too proud and even then I had my doubts. I was too wrapped up in the moment to sense what was really going on.” Scourge sat up, looking at him with a slight frown. “Even Master Satele said,” he went on, “that you joined our cause for ‘selfish reasons’ which was completely untrue.” He met his eyes and Scourge could feel his earnestness as he took in a breath. “You are by far the most selfless being I’ve ever known.”

Scourge didn’t know what to say. Nobody had ever called him “selfless” before.

“You turned against the Emperor,” Kyros went on, “and against the entire Sith Empire at great risk to your own life. All so you could help us vanquish the ultimate evil. Because you know, Scourge, above any being I’ve ever met, the true value of life.” He placed a broad hand to his chest. “And for that, you will always have my gratitude. I only wish the rest of the galaxy would feel the same.”

More tears threatened to come as Scourge examined the bulkhead. “Thank you for saying that,” was all he managed to say. After a while, he turned his gaze upon Kyros, noticing just how beautiful he really was. “But I don’t need the galaxy’s gratitude. I have yours. And that’s all that matters.”


End file.
